


Forgetting Seem

by GloriaMundi



Series: So and Seem [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Amnesia, Community: kink_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-30
Updated: 2009-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 06:55:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all slipping away from him. Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, USAF; the Stargate; Atlantis; self, military, responsibility, duty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgetting Seem

John can feel it all slipping away from him. Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, USAF; the Stargate; Atlantis; self, military, responsibility, duty. All the straight lines and hard facts and reality checks he lives with, day in, day out. All the reasons why he's got to be ...

What's he got to be? Who? He's ... he's John. He's ... fuck, he had it a moment ago.

It feels good, not fighting it, letting it all go. Like walking along the top of a wall when he's drunk: he knows he's gonna fall, and he knows it won't hurt. Not yet.

It'll come back to him.

There's something he shouldn't do, but he can't remember what it is, or why. There's something he _wants_ to do—is it the same thing? Who the fuck cares? He's pretty clear on what it is he wants to do because it's right here next to him on the couch, this middle-aged guy, nothing special to look at except that the guy's got amazing blue eyes, the bluest eyes he's ever seen (or maybe not, 'cause hello, amnesia?) and broad shoulders, and yeah, there's muscle in those arms and oh fuck yeah, he wants to feel it, to be pressed down pushed down held down. He wants to be fucked, and he's pretty sure Blue-Eyes is up for it.

It's got to be night-time, because the curtains—they're kind of sparkly, like something Nancy would've picked, but he's pretty sure Nancy's not around any more—are drawn across the windows, hiding the outside world. There's a laptop on the low table in front of the couch, and the movie that's playing looks ... he reckons he's seen it before, but he can't remember. He can't remember what happened a minute ago, let alone what's going to happen next. On screen or off.

The blue-eyed guy's not watching the movie. He's staring at him. This feels familiar, wanted, right. This feels like something they've done before. The guy's grinning at him, and he can't stop himself grinning back.

When he puts his hand on the other guy's shoulder the guy blinks, but he doesn't stop grinning. Okay. Looks like a sure thing, so he leans in to kiss the guy, and he's never been that into kissing other men (or hey, maybe he has) but this feels right, more than right, and hell, he'll go with the flow, go where this is going, let himself go.

It's weird, like going too fast to see where you're headed: like diving or falling or flying. Every moment flickers past in freezeframe. He's kissing the guy: he's on his knees in front of the couch: his hands know what to do even if he can't remember ever doing it before. His mouth knows what to do, knows the weight and pulse and taste. This isn't new, even if it might as well be his very first time. Like a—

He nearly chokes on a laugh, and the guy pulls back, pulls out, scowling down—no, frowning down at him, worried; opening his mouth to say something then stopping, swallowing, confused.

He licks his lips, ready to say something himself, to share the joke. But already it's gone, whatever it was that made him want to laugh, and he gets his hand on the guy's thick cock, his mouth round it, slackens his jaw and lets it happen. Like this is all he wants and all he is and all there is.

He's achingly hard, and he gets his free hand—the one that isn't wrapped round the guy's shaft—down to press against his erection. Christ he wants ... he _wants_. He's moaning round the guy's cock, and the guy's pulling out again, yanking him up and across til he's sprawled on the couch, arching and twisting just to feel himself pinned by the guy's weight, and if sex was ever this good before it's a hell of a thing to have forgotten.

And he wants to remember this, but each moment is like an explosion in the dark, fading too fast and leaving behind an afterimage that burns out: but that's cool, because the next moment's here already, burning bright and overwhelming, the raw rough slide of his cock against the other guy's, the taste of that wide mouth, the sounds he's—the sounds they're both making, like they've forgotten how to speak, like animals at the zoo.

It feels like it's over too quickly, though for all he knows it's been hours. The movie's still playing: maybe the room's a bit darker: he's kind of hungry, thirsty, but he wants more of this.

He's got a feeling it'll be gone too soon.

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) Amnesia.  
> Title from e e cummings poem [in time of daffodils (who know)](http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-time-of-daffodils-who-know/)


End file.
